


the way she wears it

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson has problems with the name change, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Future Fic, Office Sex, POV Phil Coulson, Skye is a superhero, Skye | Daisy Johnson's Superpowers, Skye's huge crush on Coulson, Superhero Outfit, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, i guess that's a thing in this fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4810451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye notices things are changing. Coulson is reluctant to admit he does, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the way she wears it

**i.**

He hasn't had much time to look over the preparations – he had his own design to worry about – so it surprises him the first time he sees her in her new uniform.

"You premiere your new arm, I get to show off my new suit," she tells him, when he catches him staring at the gaultlets, the utility belt. He realizes he's been signing off on the parts without knowing how the final result was going to look.

The result is impressive. Skye looks... "strong" is not the word he's looking for, exactly (she always looks strong). Stable, resilient, _whole_.

They are in the garage, prepping the Quinjet to go out.

"The boots are a bit too much, maybe," he teases her, glad to see how satisfied she seems.

"Hey, if you wanted design input you should have said so."

He shakes his head. His days of designing superhero costumes are over. He thought his days of believing in superheroes were over too. But looking at Skye now... not so much.

"Agent Johnson," he says, trying it out, another change that came a bit too fast for him. "You've come a long way."

He had meant it as a compliment, he's proud of who she has become – though proud is not the word, because he had little to do with it himself. But he is met with a expression on her face he was not expecting. Something serious, almost sharp.

"Yeah, I've come a long way," she repeats, in a completely different tone. "And you should remember that."

"What does that mean?" he asks.

"Nothing," she cops out, dropping her gaze and pretending to check the metal plates on her gaultlet. "It's mission time."

 

**ii.**

Whenever she comes from visiting Cal she wears the kind of clothes that makes Coulson remember how she looked when he first met her, and in the first days of their acquaintance.

He always waits for her when she comes back, knowing the journey is not exactly an easy one, specially the way back to the base. On those rare night he tries to do something for her. Something small, something nice. Food, mainly. Junk food, mainly. Sometimes he cooks something.

Tonight she gets in later than usual. Not late enough that he'd be worried, but late enough that it's unusual and makes him wonder. He likes that, on the days when she goes to visit her father, they both become civillians.

"Were you waiting up for me?" she asks when she finds him in the half-lit kitchen.

"No," Coulson lies.

She sits on the couch stretching her legs after a long day's drive.

She throws her head back and closes her eyes, touching her fingers to the knots in her neck and groaning in exhaustion.

Before he goes to sit with her on the couch Coulson takes a moment to look at her. She looks so normal in those clothes. Just a pretty young woman. No one would suspect normal is something unattainable for her. He smiles, thinking about the people crossing her way on the road – they probably wouldn't think there's anything normal about someone like Skye driving a 1962 red Corvette the way she does (fast, but also like it's the only thing she's ever done, like it belongs to her). It must have made them curious. She must have seen mysterious. Coulson gets an unexplicable satisfaction thinking that.

"Everything all right up there?" he asks gently as he sits close to her. He tries not to ask about what she does when she visits her father. He thinks that Skye should keep that last shred of privacy, in a life that allows for little of that. He knows she's careful, understands the risks. Coulson knows it's unwise to let her do this. He doesn't care. He's not going to take this away from her.

"Yes," she replies, opening her eyes. "Long drive, that's all."

He passes her a beer.

"Thanks."

He's not the kind of boss to have a drink with his subordinates, but Skye has never been the kind of subordinate who would make him _a kind of boss_. He takes a sip from his own beer.

"I thought you liked long drives."

"I do," Skye replies. "They give me time to think."

In a hectic life at hers he gets that, why it would be a comfort. But it also worries Coulson that she has things she has to think over long drives.

"A lot on your mind lately?" he asks, realizing how clumsy he sounds.

She makes a sound of agreement. "Some."

Things have been quiet lately. Relatively. To any normal person things have been a whirlwind of danger and raw emotions. But for someone who's lead the kind of life Skye has in the last couple of years this is a tranquil era. Her priority is still helping Inhumans with their transitions. She's dealt with enough cases that she has a protocol in place now (he's not sure the others in the team realize but Skye is writing a new book, rewriting the old Welcome Wagon instructions from the point of view of someone on the receiving end) and that gives her a certain sense of safety. The rest of the time – the Hydra missions with the team, the in-between weirdness they can't classify, the down time in the Playground – it almost takes an active effort to remember she's not human. That she's on the other side of a line SHIELD used to draw.

Right now, sitting on the couch in jeans and a loose shirt, drinking a beer with him, Coulson thinks she's the most human person he's ever met.

"What is it?" she asks.

He was staring.

"Nothing," he says quietly. "You know you can talk to me, don't you? If long drives are not enough."

It's not the kind of thing he says. He hopes it's always implied. But he is never as direct as going _you can talk about stuff to me, Skye_. It's hard for her to open up. He's not the kind of person who makes it any easier. And lately they've been kind of out of synch, despite the late nights together. He wonders if he's done something wrong.

Skye nods and reaches to take the beer bottle from his hand. Surprised, Coulson lets her. She puts both their drinks away.

She looks at him very seriously, very solemn.

"I know you want things to stay like they always have, but that can't be," she says.

He swallows in a kind of abstract terror. Like he fears something he can't name is slipping away from his grasp.

"Is this about your ops?" he asks. "Because if you think I'm interferring, that I'm not letting you grow as an agent–"

"Can you stop saying that?"

"What?"

The lines in her jaw tense. "That I'm an _agent_."

"Skye..."

"Daisy," she says, gritting her teeth. "It's _Daisy_ , goddamnit. It's – you know what? Forget it."

He didn't think she minded. He would have been more careful. She's angry because... he's hurt her? He doesn't want to hurt her. He promises himself he'll be more careful from now on, if it really matters so much to her, if it's something that has been bothering her. Maybe seeing Cal – that has to be it. Her family name keeps her tied to the man who doesn't know who Skye is, who will never know he has a daughter.

"I'm sorry," he tells her. "Won't happen again."

He pats her arm gently. Skye looks down at it and her face turns from anger to something akin to resignation.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, have you?" she tells him.

He stares at her, lost.

Skye closes the space between them and brushes her mouth against his.

Too stunned, he keeps her eyes open (watching Skye close hers, eyelids and eyelashes like in slow-motion, her irritated features suddenly softened), and his mouth half-open around the hollow reply he was going to give her (her mouth warm, smaller than he imagined, shocking that he imagined it at all).

When she pulls away he is still staring at her, still lost.

He searches her eyes for an answer.

More hurt.

"I guess you don't," she says, sadly, while she stands up and Coulson watches her walk out of the kitchen.

 

**iii.**

He was on comms all the time while Daisy was dancing and drinking and gathering intel.

It's been weeks since their awkward encounter on the couch. Coulson has decided that if it's not bothering Skye enough to bring it up, he is not going to. And she hasn't, and he should be relieved for it.

The mission went smoothly. She had her doubts at first – she hadn't done this since Malta, a moment that seemed to belong to another life. Coulson has talked her through the corners and secret doors of the building and listened as she got herself out of tight spots with the marks, hoping the silent support somehow got through to her. Even though they haven't been alone in weeks all that fades away when on a mission. On a mission there was no awkwardness, no possibility of hurting her further, no misunderstandings. Coulson had wished today's mission would go on forver. It was almost like being alone again, talking like friends again.

"I almost feel sorry it's over," Daisy says when she closes the office door behind her. It's late, but he's been waiting for her report, waiting to hear her voice. "I don't get to wear these fancy clothes often. Or _ever_."

She gives it a little chuckle and touches the strap of her dress.

It is a gorgeous dress. Black. Long but with a high cut thanks to which Skye's legs seem to go on forever. A sense of loss overwhelms him. Did he really–?

"What?" she asks.

Staring again.

"The dress," he blurts out. "You look– "

He gives her a little sigh and a smile, not knowing which word to pick.

"Coulson?" she calls. He looks up but has trouble tearing his eyes from her arms, her bare shoulders. He should not be doing this to a subordinate. Not even one who had kissed him a couple of weeks ago. "Coulson. Don't tell me you're changed your mind?"

He shakes his head. "Not changed," he tells her as he walks up to her.

She doesn't pull away as he wraps his fingers over her hips and brings their mouths together. He barely has time to process how it feels –he has been blocking how it felt, when Skye did this– because it occurs to him that she didn't ask for this.

"Sorry," he says, quickly breaking the kiss. "I should have checked if you still wanted this."

She nods, almost shyly, touching her nose against his.

She tastes of champagne.

He pulls away a bit, his right hand still curled around her hip.

"You're not drunk. Are you?" he asks.

She frowns. "Like that would be the only explanation?"

"Like it wouldn't feel right. Not the way I want it to feel."

She gives him a little smile, lighting up. "I'm sober."

He kisses her again. He wonders if he knows how to, it's been so long. Skye opens her mouth under him, grabs the jacket of his suit to pull him closer. He holds her head in his hands, running his fingers through her short hair like he's been wanting to do since she cut it.

He manouvers her back against the desk. They are kissing wildly now, and not very well. Like teenager, like they don't really know what they are doing. But it feels so good. His right hand slips up the dress, feeling her bare skin now, the surprise of her arousal. Pushing the fabric aside so he can move between her legs. Everything quickly spins out of control. He has to face the fact that he has thought about this before – without knowing he was. Not just the ridiculous dress. When he sees her in her field suit and it makes him want to stand strong side by side as she protects the world. When he sees her in her old clothes, all that denim, it makes him think that she's the only home he's known. And now, undercover clothes, her brillance in the mission, his voice in her ear the whole time, it makes Coulson want to – 

He groans, pressing himself against her body, struggling for one more shred of contact.

"I guess _you have_ changed your mind," she comments, gesturing between them.

Coulson growls now, exasperated, impatient. He takes off his tie and jacket in a hurry, Skye running her hands over his chest in a calming gesture.

He kneels before her while she takes off her underwear. The sight of that – of Skye, sorry, _Daisy_ , he struggles, the sight of Daisy Johnson getting ready for him, is almost too much. He's decided not to weep in relief and gratitude. And no, he's not talking about the sex right now. Though that part is pretty incredible in itself. He kisses up the inside of her thigh, burying himself in her arousal, his own erection almost painful.

He wonders if he is doing it all right. He used to be good at it. He used to like it – he still likes it, curling his tongue inside Skye and feeling her thighs tremble with each movement. The smell and taste of her. Back when he was used to this he also had two hands to help, but now he doesn't feel comfortable touching Skye too much with his prosthetic. What is she thinking? He's too old for her, he's too _incomplete_. He pulls back. Flattening his tongue against her for a moment, feeling her heartbeat between his teeth. She moans loadly. Coulson is a bit shocked by the sound. A sound he had either forgotten or thought he'd never hear again. He looks up.

"I love you," he says.

She stops, staring down at him, like she is a bit thrown off because he said it first. He smirks. After all these months of Skye pushing he finally gets to be a bit ahead. Her eyes soften. "If you _really_ love me you'll keep doing what you were doing," she teases him.

He has no problem with that. Her moans cut off and she catches her breath when he pushes a finger inside. He lets her get used to feeling before moving.

Her fingers graze his forehead, "It's okay," she breathes out, combing his hair, "it's good."

Coulson moves with devotion, listening for every noise she makes, every lovely and warm noise, pushing another finger when her moans get loud again. The thin, soft fabric of her dress moves like a veil over his head as she shivers, like it's protecting him. He sighs against her when she comes, the noises completely gone except for the low humming of her body in tension right before.

"All right?" he asks, when he manages to look up – wanting to see Skye's face, Daisy's face, not wanting the moment to be over, feeling inadequate and needing to know she's okay.

She cups his face gently with one hand, and pulls him up, grabbing his shirt with the other. Coulson wipes his mouth discreetly, in consideration; she kisses him like she doesn't care. She doesn't stop when she works her hand over his belt, when she pulls his pants and underwear down without any reluctance, like she has been practicing for this, shifting her own body towards the edge of the desk.

"Should we...?" he starts.

She shakes her head. Even though Coulson knows she has taken the same measures every active agent has taken that's still a lot of trust on her side. On his side too, he guesses, though perhaps men are not taught to think like that. He wants Skye to realize how much he trusts her, with this too, how raw and vulnerable he can allow himself to be only because she's here with him.

She wraps her hand around his cock and guides him into her. He's glad she's fine with taking control. His mouth closes over her neck as her legs spread and slide against his hips. He goes slow, painfully so – his heartbeat so loud it's deafening.

Then he feels the air around him shake, powerful like a wave, the things on every surface rattle.

He looks at her, questioning. 

"Sorry," she says, and he feels her relax and the air around them stay undisturbed. "First time having sex as an Inhuman. We might have to figure out a couple of things together."

He doesn't mind. He thrusts slowly into her again, kissing her mouth as he pushes all the way, with a bit of difficulty that now makes sense.

"First time?" he asks.

"Yeah," she admits, her lips getting redder and prettier with each kiss. "I've tried to date, but it's kind of hard when you're in love with your oblivious boss."

It's a joke, he knows, but it makes Coulson's heart ache. "I'm sorry," he says. He's not sure he's said it before. 

Skye presses her fingers against his mouth, asking him to shut up. Coulson kisses that hand and moves into her again. It feels as amazing as one would imagine having sex with Skye felt. Logistically is a bit – there are more comfortable ways of doing this, he admits. Perhaps if he didn't want Skye so much he wouldn't have to worry about getting caught up in the moment and he wouldn't have to worry about her falling off his desk or mundane things like this.

He realizes, if he didn't love her so much all this would have been a lot easier.

"Skye... I'm sorry, _Daisy_."

She shakes her head.

"It's okay. You can call me Skye if you want," she says, her voice almost unrecognizeable, full of desire and abandon, wrapping her legs around his waist. "I like it."

"It's not that – I see you, I see how things have changed, I've..."

" _Obviously_ ," she says, smiling, running her hand down his chest until she reaches to touch between their bodies. Coulson hisses when he feels her fingers, he can barely keep up the rhythm when all he wants to do is watch her getting herself off as he is inside her.

It's over too soon for him – stupid defective old body, stupid hopeless love and hunger he has for her, though Skye doesn't seem too concerned about that. He noses the curve of her neck and he sadly pulls out. He can only think about being inside her again. Skye is running her fingers through the hair on the back of his neck, equally unwilling to let him go. 

"I ruined your dress," he says, touching the fabric in a dream-like state, and trying not to sound _too smug_ about it. "I'm sorry."

" _Sorry_? Are you kidding?" she replies. "I'm going to get it framed and hang it in here on that wall."

Coulson swallows. He's not sure she's joking.


End file.
